I gasp when a deep voice, the kind of deep double bass voice that you associate with Russian opera, is suddenly at my window.
A huge man with a bull’s head and a baby carrier over one arm is waiting politely next to my car.
“You have a baby, too. It’s still hard for me to get the carrier in and out without waking him. If you’re going to get out, I’ll wait to open the door,” the man explains.
Man.
Minotaur. That’s a half-man, half-bull, right?
I find myself reaching blindly for Imogene’s arm. Why? I don’t know. Like if I hold her arm, she’ll be safe from the guy with huge horns coming out of his head. And a baby on his arm.
From this angle—me down in my seat, him towering above, I can see that this isn’t a mask. The mouth moves. There are big, square white teeth. A huge pink tongue. Huge everything.
I risk a look past him, down into the carrier, and see—an adorable little boy. Sleeping. Pale peach in a blue footie suit—and he’s got horns. And a soft brown tail twitching next to his toes.
“I’m getting out,” I grunt, and I do, so fast that the minotaur dad steps back.
Something is burning in my chest. Imogene is scrambling out next to me, a faint cry of my name drifting past me in the cinnamon-scented air. I pull open the rear door and lift the carrier out. Without saying anything, I hold my daughter next to his son.
“Aw. Cutie! Oh, my gosh, a watermelon. Adorable, and perfect with her coloring!” The big minotaur croons over Laurel, who looks at him with unblinking eyes.
“This is Laurel,” I croak.
“Ilias.” He gestures toward his son. “I’m Milo, by the way. You guys must be new in town. Glad you found your way here.” He waves at Imogene and then extends his huge hand to engulf mine in a handshake that leaves me worrying if you can powder knuckles.
“You’re a—”
“Minotaur. Taurosapien is the preferred term, but I’m not fussy. My wife says minotaur all the time. And you are—” he squints at Laurel, then Imogene, and I hold my breath.
Monsters are real. I think they’re real.
That explains a lot.
And this huge, horned man might be about to give me the most important explanation of all—what is Laurel?
THERE ARE OTHER MONSTERS. A minotaur. Maybe something like a dragon-man? They’re not humans in costume. I can tell up close.
But there are people all over the parking lot at the shopping center, humans pushing carts right past us, parking their cars right beside us, ignoring us like they don’t see anything unusual.
What does that mean?
I don’t know what to feel. Scared? Not alone?
Fear wins out when I realize the being called Milo is about to reveal my identity. Demon. Half or whole, if it’s true, Artie won’t want me near his precious child. Demons are evil. I don’t know them personally—unless I am one, I guess, but I know the word demonic. It’s not a good thing.
“Krampus? Am I right?”
“Krampus,” I whisper slowly.
“Oh, gosh, if I’m wrong, forgive me. This little dude isn’t sleeping through the night, and I’m running on coffee and prayers. I don’t think there’s been a krampus living in Pine Ridge for—well, not since my parents moved here.”
“Why aren’t people pointing? Or staring? Do they think we’re in Halloween costumes? And we only come out this time of year? I ask in a tense whisper.
“Uh... Well, I mean, the ones that can see us probably don’t care, and 99 percent of humans can’t pick up the supernatural. I don’t know what they see instead. Probably just a little family with a baby. For me—dude, I don’t know how they miss the horns and the hubcap hooves,” he lifts one hoof and chuckles, “but that’s just how it is.”
“But—but I can see that my daughter and—my Imogene are pink. And lovely! But they have little horns,” Artie protests.
Milo looks puzzled, and his eyes stop at the top of my head. A look of puzzled pity comes over his face, and I quickly adjust my hood to make sure what’s left of my horns are covered.
